Handling It
by Gumnut
Summary: He could handle it. He really could. (complete)


Handling It  
  
By Gumnut   
  
Oct/Nov 2003  
  
"Daniel, could I speak to you for a second."  
  
The archaeologist looked up from the book he was reading to find Jack O'Neill standing in his doorway. "Sure, Jack, what can I do for you?"  
  
The Colonel walked up to his desk and, idly picking up one of the artifacts Daniel had been studying, began to fiddle. It was a given for any room Jack walked into to be subject to some form of fiddling. Daniel had seen the man walk into his office, pick up an object, fiddle for awhile, and put it down in a place where Daniel could only locate it three weeks later after turning his lab upside down looking for it.   
  
Daniel had trained himself to follow Jack out of the corner of his eye, like an O'Neill radar to track where he went with any object he may have acquired on his wanderings so that he might be able to locate it with some ease after the man had left.  
  
Daniel sighed as he watched the fertility goddess figure from PXY-765 twirl in his CO's hands. God, he hoped he didn't lose this one, SG-7 would have his guts for garters.  
  
Once Daniel could drag his eyes away from what Jack was doing to the poor figurine, he realised Jack was frowning. And he still hadn't answered his question. "You alright, Jack?"  
  
"Wha?" The older man started, and Daniel nearly had a heart attack as the figurine slipped from Jack's fingers momentarily before the Colonel caught it again.  
  
"Jack?"  
  
"Sorry, Daniel, was just thinking about something." The figurine began to spin end over end.  
  
Oookaay, Jack O'Neill was in the 'I really need to talk about something, but would prefer to cut my own throat' mood. Standard 'getting blood out of a stone' technique applies.  
  
"Jack, you had breakfast?"  
  
He received a shake of a head. The lack of a verbal response set his hackles rising. God, this had to be a bad one.  
  
Daniel was amazed at how hard it was to get information of a personal nature out of Jack. Daniel himself was a fairly easy going man, he realised that if he had a problem he needed to talk about it, and would locate the nearest good friend, usually Jack or Sam, and talk things through with them to perhaps find a solution.  
  
Jack, however, was the virtual steel trap. Once a problem of a personal nature got beneath his skin, it sat there and festered. Daniel considered himself to be Jack's best friend, but there were gaps in his knowledge about the man that could span the Atlantic.  
  
The two of them had been to hell and back together, literally, but Jack took a very long time to trust, and Daniel wondered if he would ever have any answers to some of his questions. For example, the man was forever complaining that Daniel and Carter had no life outside of the base, but he was not one to talk. Where did Jack go on leave? To his cabin, by himself. If he wanted company, who did he ask? The people he was supposed to be taking leave away from. Daniel could not recall Jack mentioning any other friends outside the Air Force. No family other than his ex-wife and dead son were ever mentioned, and those only when it was forced from him by circumstance. Who did Jack turn to when he needed to talk?  
  
The answer grabbed the fertility goddess from his CO's hands and placed it gently on his desk, his eyes admonishing the distracted older man. "C'mon, Jack, let's go find ourselves some food."  
  
The silence was ominous despite the usual background noises of the base, as they walked down the corridors. Jack seemed to be displaying both reluctance and distraction to the point that Daniel wanted to shake him just to find out what the problem was. He almost sighed with relief when they finally made it to the commissary.  
  
Daniel grabbed himself a waffle and coffee, and Jack, despite his claim of having not eaten, only a mineral water. The younger man had to stop himself from checking the label on Jack's bottle to prove that it had no sugar in it, and briefly wondered if Jack had been kidnapped by some alien and replaced with a copy. The sugar fiend never drank mineral water, spring water, or any other type of water for that matter, unless it was severely laced with either sugar or alcohol.  
  
They found a table in a quiet corner and sat down. Jack quickly moved to prove Daniel's theory about himself and said mineral water by unscrewing the top of the bottle, but not drinking any. The bottle became the fertility goddess replacement, fiddled sideways, often on the verge of spilling.  
  
Daniel watched the bottle bounce backwards and forwards, waiting for the penny to drop. Unfortunately, Jack ended up dropping the bottle instead. Daniel closed his eyes, resisting dropping his head into his hands.  
  
"Aw, crap."  
  
Daniel handed him a pile of serviettes, glancing at the few stares directed in their direction. Jack's head disappeared, fishing for the bottle now rolling across the floor.  
  
"Jack, what's wrong?"  
  
"Huh?" There was a thud as the Colonel's head came up under the table and whacked into its wooden surface. "Shit."  
  
Daniel almost rolled his eyes. Almost.  
  
"Jack?"  
  
Finally a tousled silver head of hair appeared, brown eyes no way impressed, almost glaring at him.  
  
"Jack, what is wrong?"  
  
The Colonel sighed and placed the half empty bottle back on the table, his fingers still idly fiddling with it. His eyes followed the lapping of the water inside the plastic container.  
  
"Daniel, I need to ask you something."  
  
Stalling. He was still stalling, and the silence was getting longer.  
  
"Jack, ask me."  
  
The eyes that looked up at him were almost helpless. The last time Daniel had seen him like this had been during the incident with the Ancients' archive of knowledge. It was a frightening sight to see such a confident man looking so desperate.  
  
The Colonel swallowed, and it finally came out.  
  
"Daniel, I would like you to be executor of my will."  
  
Daniel blinked. All this for that?  
  
"Sure, Jack, of course."  
  
O'Neill's eyes drifted back to the bottle in his hands.  
  
Daniel studied his CO, noting the continuing movement of the bottle, the eyes that were looking but not seeing. This had been no capitulation, there had to be more.  
  
"Jack, is there something else?"  
  
Those eyes shot up, suddenly guarded. Oh, so there was more.  
  
"No, everything's fine."  
  
Daniel knew he had lost the window of opportunity, but was determined to find it again. Something was wrong. Jack obviously needed to talk, but was fighting it.  
  
"Now, why don't I believe you?"  
  
"I don't know, Daniel, why don't you?" Oooh, Defensive Jack.  
  
Again there was silence.  
  
Jack suddenly made to leave. "Thanks, Daniel, I'll get the paperwork done and bring it in." His eyes caught the archaeologist's. "I do appreciate it." He stood, and with a pat on Daniel's shoulder, left the commissary.  
  
Daniel sat there for a moment, nursing his uneaten meal, before something occurred to him.  
  
Oh, god.  
  
He stood in a hurry, his plastic chair clattering to the concrete floor, attracting eyes from across the room. He didn't notice, his meal left untouched as he hurried out after Jack.  
  
He found him two corridors away, walking towards his office. Daniel came up behind him and asked the question he knew needed an answer.  
  
"Jack, what has happened to Sara?"  
  
The man froze, but didn't turn. His shoulders tense, his short cropped hair fluttering in the breeze of the air conditioning.  
  
He didn't answer.  
  
"Jack, tell me."  
  
There was a muffled grunt of a sound, and Daniel moved to get in front of him and block his path. The Colonel avoided him, and started walking determinedly towards his office.  
  
Time to plead.  
  
"Jack, I'm here, talk to me." If he made it to his office, the lock on the door would ensure Daniel would never get his answer.  
  
The voice was stiff and controlled. "Daniel, I know you mean well, but I can't talk about this right now." Jack still hadn't looked at him, and continued to march down the corridor.  
  
Daniel had had enough. He shoved his way past the Colonel, and placed himself squarely in his path. "Jack! I'm here, talk to me."  
  
The eyes that looked at him were cold and spoke of anger, a barely leashed rage that Daniel knew was fully capable of picking him up and removing him as an obstacle, possibly through a wall.  
  
Only the watery haze of unshed tears those eyes were staring through ruined the effect.  
  
Jack O'Neill never cried. Daniel had seen him scream in pain, seen him furious to the point of blowing an eardrum.  
  
But he never cried.  
  
And he wasn't now.  
  
On the outside.  
  
"What happened?"  
  
The eyes looked away, blinked, and turned to him once again.  
  
"Daniel,....I can't...." He raised his hands, helpless in his struggle to express himself. "Please."  
  
The younger man raised his own hand and placed it on a taut shoulder. It was repelled, shook off, unwanted.  
  
"Jack."  
  
Anger flashed. "What do you want me to say, Daniel? What do you want to hear? That my wife was killed in a car accident? That she died calling my name, and I never came?" Jack coughed, his control shaking under his anger. "There is nothing I can do to fix it. Talking certainly won't help bring her back." The anger suddenly cooled under the obvious weight of grief. He looked at his shoes.  
  
Daniel felt the weight of that grief, felt his heart bend, seeing his friend in pain, and unable to do anything but be there. "What happened, Jack?"  
  
O'Neill lifted his eyes, gazing about the corridor. Privacy was an issue. Daniel grabbed an arm, and led Jack to his own office. Jack flinched at his touch, but didn't resist, as if at a loss as to what to do.  
  
Daniel led Jack to his chair and sat him down, taking one himself, not too close, but not too far away either. The door was firmly closed behind them.  
  
"Tell me what happened, Jack." He tried to catch Jack's eyes, to make a connection, but their brown depths looked anywhere but at him. "Jack."  
  
"Yes, Daniel?" The voice was weary, losing its defiance, but still struggling.  
  
"What happened, Jack?"  
  
"You don't give up, do you?"  
  
"Not where a friend is concerned, no."  
  
The dark eyes finally flickered in his direction. The shimmering tears were gone, but the pain still emanated in waves. "She's dead, Daniel. It happens."  
  
Hello, Soldier Jack.  
  
"That doesn't make it any easier."  
  
"No, it doesn't." Whispered.  
  
And finally it all came out.  
  
Sara O'Neill had been involved in a car accident not far from the mountain. She had been severely injured, but remained conscious most of the time. Time enough to ask for Jack over and over again. Her injuries had been mortal, the doctors trying everything. She survived to the hospital, still asking for Jack, and her father had tried everything to locate his former son-in-law in the short time he had. But Jack O'Neill was not to be found.  
  
He was not to be found because he was not even on the planet. It had been a long mission, several weeks of dodging Goa'uld on some slimy, muddy planet that he couldn't even remember the name of. A successful mission he hadn't known the price for, until he had returned home. General Hammond had been the one to inform him.  
  
A quick, pain-filled visit to his father-in-law had filled in the gaps in the General's knowledge.  
  
The last word on his ex-wife's lips had been his name.  
  
And he hadn't come.  
  
Those dark eyes had misted over again, and turned away from Daniel.  
  
"I'm sorry, Jack."  
  
"I know." Quiet pain.  
  
Jack cleared his throat. "These things happen." And Colonel Jack was back.  
  
Daniel blinked, his own mind still tuned into Jack's pain. The abrupt change in personality startled him.  
  
"Is there anything I can do, Jack?"  
  
"No, Daniel, you've done enough. I will handle this my way." The Colonel's eyes flickered, and Daniel suddenly realised something more.  
  
"Jack, you know this isn't your fault."  
  
"Says who?"  
  
"Jack, this couldn't possibly be your fault! You were on the other side of the galaxy, for goodness sake." The moment he said it, Daniel knew he had stepped one too far. He seemed to have a habit of that in dangerous situations. Touching things he shouldn't touch.   
  
Jack O'Neill seemed to self ignite before him, rising from his chair, towering over the seated Daniel. "That is exactly why it is my fault, Daniel. I was never there!" Then, as if realising he had said too much, he kicked the chair behind him, sending it spinning into the wall. One desperately painful glance at Daniel, and he was out the door, his footsteps echoing down the corridor.  
  
Daniel didn't follow this time. He finally realised that, no, there wasn't anything he could do.  
  
*********  
  
Jack O'Neill stormed down the corridor, a whirlwind of emotion. It had slipped his control. Daniel always managed to do that to him. Whether it be anger or grief, Daniel knew which buttons to press to shut down whatever technique Jack O'Neill had in place to control himself. If only the man knew what fire he was playing with.  
  
Jack shook himself, forcing a mask over his features in the fear that someone in the corridor might seem him.   
  
Go on, admit it, O'Neill, it is fear. Fear that someone might see the real Jack O'Neill. The man that bled every time he fired that gun, the man that the soldier ignored in times of crisis.  
  
The man that was currently on his hands and knees, screaming at the injustice of fate.  
  
Screaming at himself for not being there when needed.  
  
Or simply just screaming.  
  
He reached the door to his on-base quarters, and slammed it open. He needed some time alone before he faced the world again. Some time to rebuild his intricate façade. To put the lie back in place.  
  
So no-one would know.  
  
So he wouldn't have to see the pity in their eyes.  
  
**********  
  
Daniel spent the rest of the morning distracted. He got hardly any work done, his mind wandering off in the general direction he had last seen Jack.  
  
He wanted to go and see the man, to make sure he was all right, but it was clear that Jack needed some time alone, and Daniel was considerate enough to provide that time, no matter how it grated and worried him.  
  
At some point he found himself fiddling - with the fertility goddess, no less - and it brought a weary smile to his face. Jack was a good friend, but a difficult one, particularly regarding communication. But Daniel was learning. It was taking years, and a few burnt fingers, but slowly he was working out how Jack O'Neill functioned.  
  
He was so different from Daniel Jackson. And Daniel knew it was those differences that had allowed Jack to survive his life.  
  
Daniel didn't always understand, but he was finding that he didn't necessarily need to. He just had to be there.  
  
And he would be.  
  
With that thought, he decided that Jack had had enough time to himself, and wandered off in search of his CO.   
  
*********  
  
Jack wasn't in any of his usual haunts. Neither Sam or Teal'c had seen him all morning, and Daniel was now starting to get worried. Jack's state of mind hadn't been particularly stable the last time he had seen him. He was beginning to curse his decision to leave the man to himself.  
  
Daniel approached Jack's quarters his mood becoming desperate.   
  
He knocked.  
  
No answer.  
  
He knocked again.  
  
Again, no answer.  
  
Damnit, Jack, if you are in there....  
  
He tried the handle, and to his surprise found it unlocked. Without hesitation, he opened it.  
  
Jack wasn't in there.  
  
But he had been.  
  
No piece of furniture lay unturned. The bed, normally neatly made, was shoved into a corner, on its side, the single standard issue chair sitting haphazardly on top of it. Cabinets lay askew, some on their sides, others with their doors flung wide, their contents flung astray. Something made of wood, now completely unrecognizable, lay in splinters scattered across the floor, interspersed with pieces of broken lamp.  
  
And in the middle of all this chaos lay a single photo in a battered silver frame, its glass broken and jagged.  
  
Sara O'Neill smiled up between the cracks.  
  
Oh, god, Jack.  
  
Daniel fled the room. He had to find Jack.  
  
**********  
  
O'Neill flipped the magazine, and clipped it into place. He sighted along the barrel, his practiced eye checking for faults, examining the weapon for irregularities that could mean death at the wrong moment.  
  
Finding nothing, he set the P-90 aside and reached for the next one. They were due out this afternoon, planet PXY-765 if he remembered correctly. Simple reconnaissance with SG-7 and those rocks Daniel had been so excited about. Standard equipment required, and he took it upon himself to check all the equipment himself. Particularly Daniel's. The guy knew how to fire the weapon, and was getting quite good at it, but maintenance was not one of his strong points. In fact, Jack was sometimes surprised when Daniel actually brought his gun back with him, and didn't leave it on some art-ti-fact on the other side of the galaxy.  
  
He clicked the second magazine into place, and raised the weapon to his eye, tracking along the barrel only to come face to face with said archaeologist.  
  
A frantic said archaeologist.  
  
He lowered the weapon. "Daniel, you okay?" The man's hair was askew, his face a mask of worry. "What's wrong?" Jack's hackles rose. Could there be an emergency?  
  
"Jack! You're here!"  
  
"Yes, I am." Huh?  
  
"You okay?"  
  
"Fine. What's wrong with you?"  
  
Daniel suddenly looked confused, his brow wrinkling, the worry fading. "I was worried about you."  
  
Oh, this had to do with that. Jack's mind skipped over the subject refusing to touch it. It hurt too much.  
  
"I'm fine, Daniel, I don't want to talk about it."  
  
"I saw your room."  
  
How? Anger briefly flared, how dare he-  
  
But one look at the anxious archaeologist cooled his ire. Daniel was concerned, worried.  
  
Why didn't he realise there was nothing to worry about?  
  
"You left the door unlocked."  
  
Jack went back to checking the weapon. "I must remember to lock my door in future."  
  
He could almost feel the air hardening around him, Daniel's offense diffusing across the room.  
  
Damn.  
  
He put the weapon down. Turning to Daniel he raised his hands in front of him. "Daniel, do you trust me?"  
  
Various emotions flickered through the younger man's eyes before he spoke. "Yes."  
  
"Then please trust me on this, Daniel. I'm fine. I will handle this my way."  
  
The archaeologist looked as if he wanted to say more, his lips parting, but Jack sent him a look and cut him off. "Trust me, Daniel."  
  
The blue eyes shifted, and, finally, he gave in. "Just remember, Jack, I'm here if you need me."  
  
"I will, and thank you."  
  
The room became silent, and the silence became awkward.  
  
Jack broke it first. "So, Daniel, ready for our little visit to PXY-yadda-yadda?"  
  
Daniel's eyes suddenly widened. "Oh, sh-. Uh, excuse me, Jack." Daniel left the room rather quickly.  
  
Jack's eyes followed him out, a small smile daring to curve his lips. Danny never changed.  
  
**********  
  
Daniel missed lunch completely, cramming his work into the last hour before their scheduled visit off-world, his mind having been elsewhere for most of the morning.  
  
That was how he found himself standing in the gateroom munching on an energy bar. For once he was actually early. He had worked up such a momentum with his rushed preparation that he had rushed himself right into the gateroom before any other members of the team. General Hammond had even been a little shocked, his voice echoing over the intercom, asking him if he was all right.  
  
He had been about to answer when Jack O'Neill bounded into the room and answered for him.  
  
"He's fine, General. Just in a little bit of a hurry." The grin that spread over Jack's face lit up his face like it always did. Gone was the man wracked by grief. In fact, gone was any sign that anything had happened at all. If Daniel hadn't known better, he would have assumed that today was just like any other day, his CO joking around, flinging off bad puns like the weapon he carried shed bullets. Sam groaning. Teal'c trying to break his eyebrow.  
  
"Daniel?"  
  
Daniel suddenly realised he was staring. "Uh, sorry, Jack, just thinking."  
  
"Good, gotta keep those mental muscles taut." Even Daniel groaned over that one.  
  
The wormhole whooshed into existence, cutting off any further discussion, and the General's voice echoed over the intercom. "Safe journey, SG-1."  
  
The Colonel flipped a sloppy salute in his CO's direction, and turned towards the wormhole. As Jack's eyes skipped over Daniel's for just a moment he saw it. Deep in the depths of those dark eyes the grief still seethed.  
  
Jack turned, and it was gone. He headed up the ramp. "C'mon, kids, SG-7 awaits."  
  
Sam and Teal'c bounded up after him, less energetically followed by Daniel. As the Colonel disappeared into the wormhole, Daniel finally realised that Jack was right.  
  
He had handled it.  
  
Differently, yes, and in a way Daniel would never have considered, but handled.  
  
He knew that despite appearances Jack O'Neill was not the flippant, dumb ass he tried to paint himself as. That was just a distraction from the real O'Neill.  
  
Daniel knew he didn't understand his friend completely, but he did understand that they were very different.  
  
And that was all he needed to know.  
  
He stepped through the event horizon towards what lay beyond.  
  
**********  
  
FIN. 


End file.
